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hips. “Mama told me I get Aunt Aeline’s dishes that come from London England and that’s got a serving platter and a soup tureen.”
    L’il Leam nodded and Birdie Brown skipped off.
    Birdie was Addy’s age and that was one year younger than Leam and Chester. All the girls of fifteen were best friends and the best reason was there were only four of them. There was Addy and Birdie and the twins, Josephine and Camille Bishop. Josephine and Camille were soft girls, fat and spoiled, and couldn’t have stood the labour of the fields even if their Daddy did think it fit work for a young woman.
    The twins’ Daddy, Theodore Bishop, had the biggest house and fanciest suits and a sleek new motor car he took over on the ferry to Detroit every other day. When Wallaceleft his employ, Addy heard her father say that Teddy Bishop was running bootleg whisky for the Purple Gang out of Detroit. Laisa clucked her tongue. “Let us thank the Lord the good folks of this town don’t take that devil’s juice.”
    When Laisa said that, Wallace and Addy knew she meant the coloured folks because Mr. Kenny was known to take whisky every night including Sunday. And nearly all the French folks in the region liked to take bourbon and gin and whatever else they could get their hands on. The truth was, even Addy tried a taste of some burning amber fluid behind the barn with L’il Leam and the rest of the farmhands last summer. Everyone knew it had been brought there by Zach Heron. And Addy knew it was devil’s juice, not the sun, that made her father’s eyes shine after a day out fishing with the big man. If her mother ever found out, she’d have to wring her hands right off.
    The four girls spread out a blanket under the big willow near the church graveyard, distant from the food tables and chittering children and worn-out women in their fresh spring hats. The girls caught a breeze from the east and with it the scent of Dillon’s pig farm. Camille and Josephine made hostile faces at a trio of seagulls looking for charity. The girls knew better than to offer so much as a peach pit to a begging bird because no one needed a whole flock swooping down and spoiling the lawn.
    On the grass nearby, L’il Leam was doing handstands. Birdie knew Leam was showing off for her and made sure he could tell she was impressed. When Leam finally toppledover, it was his friend Jonas Johnson’s turn. Jonas was short like Leam, but pear-shaped and heavy and when he tried to stand on his hands, he fell forward onto his face. Leam didn’t laugh when his friend fell, and that impressed Birdie most of all.
    Addy didn’t mean to stare, but sometimes she felt green about Birdie Brown’s heart-shaped face and lay-back ears and wide almond eyes. She’d catch Chester Monk looking Birdie’s way and imagine he thought of lifting that pretty girl up and pressing his lips on her little round mouth. Addy was comforted to know that Birdie loved L’il Leam. Her friend had long ago confessed she thought a man as big as Chester might well crush a girl to death.
    Addy was lost in Birdie’s profile, and they were under the willow so there was no shadow when Chester Monk appeared. He startled Addy when he leaned against the tree and bit into one of Isobel Heron’s berry tarts. He wasn’t much of a talker and hardly looked Addy’s way in the field, but she knew how he felt like she knew her own name. Addy wondered if Chester’d yet sampled her pie and was sure L’il Leam would’ve pointed it out. She could count on her brother for such things as that.
    Josephine and Camille were lost in their peas and butter, fretting about seconds on the stewed rhubarb before it all went to the Pastor’s cousins. Addy dared to glance up at silent Chester leaning against the tree. She liked the way his Adam’s apple rose and fell when he swallowed. She smiled to herself when his tongue